Let’s step back to nearly a MONTH ago when the four of us went to my in-laws’ farmhouse in Indiana. When my fashionable, Chinese friend and her husband spent their honeymoon with us. Before I had THREE children in my house asking 3 million questions an hour and eating 3 million pounds of peanut butter. I would like to finally tell you the rest of that story before I forget all of it and that space in my brain is replaced with VeggieTales lyrics.

“If it doesn’t have a tail, it’s not a monkey.
Even if it has a monkey-kind-of shape.
If it doesn’t have a tail, it’s not a monkey. If it doesn’t have a tail, it’s not a monkey. It’s an ape!”

If you’ve been around this blog for more than a millisecond, you may have noticed that I’m not the world’s greatest—how should I put this…?

[Human?]

…homemaker. I’m not much of a homemaker.

Sure, I love to decorate. Sometimes. Though, you should probably disregard the picture frame that is the focal point in our living room. The one that currently sits between the piano and the Christmas tree. This frame contains the most darling photo of a young boy who probably made more money as a child model than I’ll ever make as a blogger.

Yes, it’s the photo that came with the frame. It’s been that way for a year. Ever since I ripped up the photo that was originally in the frame.

In case you’re wondering why my posts have been pretty infrequent around here, I’m now able to share with you the reason why. I have been working on a story so near and dear to my heart that I have poured all of my free time and energy into it. This is a story so incredible that I flew from Kansas back to Georgia to capture it.

It’s a story about my Grandmother, Geraldine “Gerry” Hinesley, and the man who was her first love.

THANK YOU to everyone who participated! If you didn’t win the giveaway, but still want some delicious, healthy snacks delivered to your door, use the code “KATY” on the NatureBox website to get 50% off your first month of snacks!

(This post and giveaway are sponsored by NatureBox. All stories and opinions are my own.)

As a mother of two toddlers, I have learned to accept the fact that we will rarely venture out of our home without some sort of meltdown. Either we’ll skip Averi’s afternoon nap, and she’ll repay us with a Toddlers in Tiaras-worthy hissy fit, or JJ will wake up too early that morning and decide to do that whole-body limp thing every time we try to get him to walk. And since he’s a 3-year-old man-baby and weighs almost as much as I do, this is probably a fun scene for complete strangers to witness.

[Why can’t that woman control her teenage boy? And WHY is he wearing a diaper?]

In all the years I’ve been blogging and using social media, I’ve learned several ways to engage readers and get a conversation started:

One is to talk about politics.

I don’t really do that any more. Because I very much dislike it when my blood reaches a boiling point.

Another is to talk about faith.

I do do that. Because I can’t separate my faith from the rest of me. So, either I talk about it, or I can’t talk at all.

[Yes, please. I vote for the latter.]

And another is to talk about food.

Because I don’t know a single person who doesn’t love to talk about, look at, post a photo of, or gobble up some delicious food. And, yes, I include those who pretend like they’ve never posted a photo of a froufrou dessert on social media. It’s okay to admit it. We’ve all done it.

Remember my Labor Day post about how Brian got pulled over in a speed trap for the billionth time this year? And remember how I said I would reenact that in a one-woman show about it? And remember how I vowed to never travel in the car with any of them again until one of them learns to stop speeding and two of them learn to defecate in a toilet and to quit whining nonstop?